


Thousand-girl

by Kirsten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-09
Updated: 2008-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean met a woman while Sammy was at Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thousand-girl

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to oxoniensis for the beta.

Dean met a woman while Sammy was at Stanford. She had brown hair and brown eyes, she had hips and thighs and arms that wobbled slightly, in a really great way. She looked like a thousand other women Dean met while Sammy was at Stanford, but this woman, she stuck around in Dean's head, even while he was chasing that poltergeist.

"I didn't expect to see you again," she said, when Dean pulled up at the drive thru.

"Are you kidding?" Dean stuffed fries in his mouth. "I love me some killer potatoes."

She took his money, and Dean drove on through and pulled up in the parking lot. He sat around and waited for her to finish up, jammed to a little Motorhead and waved his fries for emphasis while he did it. When he finished eating them, he went back to get some more.

"Wow," she said as she handed him another load of fries. "You're really chasing that heart attack."

"That and your beautiful self," he said, smooth like Hollywood, circa 1950.

"I don't get off until midnight."

"Then I'll just have to wait," Dean said gallantly. "Gorge myself on French fries until my stomach pops."

She rolled her eyes. Dean went back to his spot and kept his eye on her. She kept her eye on him, too. He saw her glance at him from time to time and occasionally twist her head around to speak with somebody else. She was probably thinking about calling the cops on the pervert in the parking lot, but he couldn't make himself leave. "Face it," Dean muttered to himself. "You're creepy, dude."

He was sort of surprised when she walked out just after midnight, a green scarf around her neck to match the green stripes in her gloves. She came right over and got in his car. "I like this car," she said, and Dean wanted to kiss her right then.

"Thanks," he said, beaming. "I like it, too."

"I'm Kimmii. Double m, double i," she said, and held out a hand. The wool of her gloves scritched warmly against his palm and fingers.

"I'm Dean."

"You already told me that," she said. "You told me twice. Maybe it was three times."

He grinned, and kissed the back of her hand. "That's probably true. I was just making sure you didn't forget me."

"You've been my best customer these past few days," she said. "There isn't much chance of that."

-

Dean got her back to the motel room just fine. It was an okay trip, some talk about the weather, a little chat about work. She dissed his taste in music, and for a few seconds he thought about ditching her at the next light. Still, she liked the car, and that was one hell of a saving grace. Also, there were the French fries to consider.

He pushed her up against the door as soon as it closed behind them. Her lips were slightly chapped and Dean set out to bruise them with the kisses he'd wanted to give her back in the parking lot. She made breathy little noises against his face, warm puffs of air over his cheekbones, and she started to grind her hips when he slid down a hand and rubbed her crotch through her jeans.

"You like that, baby?"

"You're an idiot," Kimmii said. "Of course I like that."

He laughed against her neck while she kicked off her jeans. It was all going great, until she took off her shirt and he saw the pendant around her neck.

Dean knew that charm. Back in high school it earned him an interview in the principle's office and a whole lot of other trouble besides. It smelled like his dad's old leather belt, Sammy's textbooks hidden under the bed, one night of punishment and two whole months of being grounded.

He took it in his fingers and held it up in her face. "You really think you need this shit?"

She flinched, and Dean crumpled the trinket in his hand and cracked the vial inside. It smelled like roses and blood when it leaked out over his fists, but blood was just blood, and he wiped it off on the blankets. "I don't get why girls like you go for this stuff. I don't get it at all."

She laughed a little, turned around and bared her back, and there was lumpy, bald tissue where there should have been flawless skin. It wasn't shaped like anything, it didn't look deliberate. It looked like an accident, and he knew she'd stay stuck in his head even with her token smashed, this woman with fate written all over her normal, thousand-girl face.

"You wanna talk about scars," Dean said, and stripped off his worn old shirt.

-

He fucked her on her back that night because he wanted her legs wrapped around him, wanted to feel her pulling him in, trying to ride his cock harder than he wanted to let her. She wasn't wild, but she wasn't quiet, either. She was just so normal, it kind of made his head hurt, and he didn't want to belabour the point by kissing on the ridge of her spine.

But he sure as hell fucked her on her hands and knees the _next_ night.

-

A few years later Dean found himself back in town and the only difference was Sammy riding shotgun, there was even a poltergeist over the river making life nasty in a retirement home. He left Sam at the library and headed for the drive thru.

"I didn't expect to see you again," she said, when Dean pulled up at the window.

"Tell me about it," Dean said. Her hand was resting on the ledge, and he eyed the rock glittering on her finger. She caught his look and laughed.

"I'm getting married, Romeo. Back off."

"Huh." Dean couldn't help but feel suspicious, because what if she'd suckered some poor sap into marrying her freaky self? So he snuck a look at her boobs.

"Hey," she said, snapping her fingers. "I'm up here, asshole. Anyway," she added, "I thought you said I didn't need that shit."

Dean let his eyes linger for a moment, on the basis that once he'd seen a woman naked any protestation was just a little play talk. She looked good, maybe a hint of pregnant tummy under her shirt. Her name tag read _Kimmii Lofthouse, Manager_.

"Guess you don't," Dean said with a grin, and he took his fries and thought, _But maybe I do._


End file.
